


To Live Again

by vanilume



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Corruption, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Mental Anguish, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Recovery, Red Templars, Redemption, Slow Build, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanilume/pseuds/vanilume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition faces a great turn of events, as their order is under insurmountable danger, forces unguided and disordered.<br/>The Herald has to set the fate of the world aside, and find herself in spiraled into the ever-growing power of the Red Templars, and their forthcoming as the inquisition's strength is faltering.</p><p>However, the end closes in on her, and it seems little can save them.</p><p>The Commander is a walking dead man, craving blood. Red crystal shreds not only his skin, but his life. <br/>The Inquisitor has to bring him back, but it proves to be an impossible task, mentally and physically.</p><p> </p><p>And the Inquisition suffers in his absence</p><p> </p><p>***SPOILERS****</p><p>The story deviates heavily from canon, but brings it back in memories or strings of moments that have passed. No character is AU by intention.<br/>The inquisitor is Evelyn Trevelyan.</p><p>***First fanfic work! I hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Breath

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is very in medias res.  
> Meant to shock and take you into it fast.
> 
> Try to set your mind up for some hurt and emotional suffering! Get that sad-ass music out and play it.
> 
> I'll appreciate any feedback given.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy some gore and torture!

 

\----

 

 

So.. Weak. _So very weak._ **_So weak._**

She was puny. Tiny. Her soul shattered into a million pieces, her faith drained. With her red knees ground harshly into the cold cobbled floor, she was slumped over, her head hanging in bereft, pure defeat. She had nothing left then, no power, no words of silver, no pleading cries. She was dead, for all intents and purposes. The salty taste of tears trickled down her cheeks, swollen lips and aching head. She'd sobbed, of course, but to no avail, something she should've known, but she tried anything and everything. Rags was all that clung her thin form, ripped in battle and in panic.

_Defeated._

He circled her, like a predator playing with its prey. But he did not smile. He wasn't amused, he was not even alive. Dead, like her. A shadow of a would-be hero. He had saved countless lives in his time, commanded armies and followed even the smallest of chances into success and glorious victory. He was everything she could ever hope to aspire to. And yet his golden eyes seemed faded, unfocused, even as his taunt arms grappled the hilt of his sword with intent to disconnect a head from a body. Seemingly uncaring who that body and head was.

Red speckled his golden orbs, and his once soft, battle-weathered face was stretched, young, invigorated with sickening power. A scar was still a scar it had seemed, and it stretched across his upper lip, cracked and slit upper lip. His jaw sat clenched, restrained. But the dead man moved. No life coloured his skin, and his wounds were agape through his pierced armour, but he did not bleed. He had nothing.

They said the wicked would walk in the shadow of ungrace, and perhaps she would've known, if she had listened. If she had ever listened. To their pleas, his pleas. Their cries of mercy and repentance. But she had left, strode out into uncertainty. She trembled like a dried autumn leaf in wind, she couldn't stop anything, she was just a human, a body to him. She had learned that now, sanguine dripping from her shoulder, hands scolded in her own flame. But she felt cold, and she couldn't even register it. Death's embrace seemed more welcoming than the destroyed castle walls she sat between, as blizzard raged just outside, screaming her name.

She didn't know what he was waiting for anymore. It had seemed a game to him, a wicked grace to taunt his bleeding rabbit, to show it carrots at the end of the hole and stick a knife into its back once it came out, eat it alive. She wanted it ended, her life, she had little hope to live left. She had been in the upper-hand, but as she failed miserably, underestimating the strength he carried, even as great crystals pierced his chest, his rigid movements in the cold. He had been wounded, in her eyes, but he didn't bleed. She just.. didn't know. She had given up, her powers 'nulled in his presence, blood still boiling but unable to lash out. She had been stripped of her claws and glint of eye as soon as he had closed in on her. In her heart, the Maker had abandoned her here, to die at the blade of a friend, a saviour once upon a time.

He stopped. The unsheathing of metal rung in her ears, and it would've alarmed her greatly unless she had welcomed the metal itself.

His leather and armour resounded around her as he raised his hands high above himself. It was close now, she w.. wanted this. She wanted undoing. His aura pulsated around her, and her very fiber ached inside of her bones, her fingers.

For a second, her mind wandered from her inevitable death, and she entered her memories. Brisk morning wind. Golden, orange coloured sky. A reassuring heat on her face as the sun rose over the horizon, over the vast expanse of mountains. But the heat exhumed from behind her, from around her waist. A chin settling over her shoulder to live her moment. Her heart pounded.

The world was dark, but beautiful. Twinkling lights in the sky, a great orb of starlight lit her path. She was.. not alone. The dark was still warm, like day. It entered her from behind still, strong arms strapping over her shoulders, hugging her. They stood like one, silent as the night. A breath broke free from her lungs.

It was light again then. Day. A new day. She didn't recognize this memory. Perhaps it wasn't. She stood alone at the base of stairs, marble. Silence hung since the night, but she was waiting for something. For someone. Her heart was soaring then, hot puffs of breath leaving her faster, wanting to escape her imprisoned body. She looked up and saw a great chapel, a gigantic structure of infinite grace, beauty and holiness. A grand chantry gate stood between her and her salvation, but as she was about to grasp at the stairs, to try for her life to climb the golden portal, it opened with a hum. Out from the silvery insides strode a man of pure sunlight, his radiance dancing against her skin, giving it colour and life. Her features widened in a flight of passion, hope and purpose. The man reached for her, his inexplicably safe voice calling her name softly, like a whisper, but it echoed as a shout against the walls around her.

_Evelyn. Evelyn.. Evelyn.. save us._

Suddenly she was back at the world's stone-cold end, pain striking her endlessly in every muscle and every joint, but something made her look up, something everlasting from what she thought she had remembered. Her stricken bright eyes followed his being, the demon that stood in front of her, taking in his poisoned looks, his brokenness. His whole person was jutted with red, oozing crystal formations, and his wounds ached with a sanguine glow, as it penetrated the surface of his skin. Her heart willed heavy beats, and her reality slowed as she stared into the now red pits of power that were his eyes. They were bloodshot, strained in fury and agony. She knew. For an incredulous emotion filled her every fiber, and she lift from her knees slightly, pushing through his deafening aura.

 _Cullen.._ She whispered, no stronger than the wings of a butterfly beating. It carried through the venomous, deathly cold air, but nothing could touch her voice. It resisted everything else.

 _Cullen.. I can save you_. She breathed, shaking hands lifting from her lap and poising in front of her, like an offering. Like she had her soul slipping through her fingers in front of him.

He was unmoving.

**_Paralyzed._ **

_Cullen.._

Every last cell in his body resisting the penetration of the red lyrium that flowed through his veins. He was trembling as a crush of willpower entered him, pierced him. Her eyes penetrated him. She looked through him, through his bodily prison. She saw him, there. Chained in darkness, chained in blood. Beaten and bruised, suffocating and crying his soul out to anything that would hear him. She could see it in his quivering lips, flared nostrils and endless strength.  
His heat beat inside of its crystal cage.

_Once._

_Twice._

_A double take._

It pounded harder, and his body spasmed in violent reciprocation.

His arms twisted back, fighting themselves to let the wicked sword fall out of their grasp. One hand gripped the other, painfully dragging it to his chest, as his body faltered onto his knees. Cracking of armour as it buckled into him, his own strength willing his wrist to break in defiance. Anguish flashed across his features, and his teeth grit into something almost human, looking like his skin was burning. Maybe it was worse than burning flesh.

She left him not for a moment. Something willed her to see him, through all of the fortresses and tortures that closed off his soul and mind. If it was divine or otherwise, she only strengthened at his falter, and she forced a leg up, taking brace and wanting life. She staggered back at first attempt, hitting the wall and wincing in pain, but never letting her contact break with him. His last stand rippling through him.

She climbed up the wall, leaning her back against it, palms sliding from the frost that clung to the soulless rock. But she stood then. Her body screamed, shook, fought against her, like he was fighting himself. The deathly stiffness slowed her, but she took steps, her gaze setting him aflame. She saw him.

She saw _him._

She seemed touched by the fade, something undeniably powerful shredding through her inhibitions of being mortal.

And he saw _her._

He could see her, darkness lifting from his gaze.

Unveiling him from a dark confinement.

His shaking ceased, and his body doubled onto itself, his forehead finding rest against the floor. And he shed tears onto the cold redemption of it. He held onto his wrist still, its broken visage paining her as well. His voice broke through a thousand dungeons, and he rasped for air. He had met her eyes before.. but now they stung, forcefully closed, his features wrinkled in everything that poured out from his soul. His knee-guards ground into the stone, groaning a metallic sound against it.

He wasn't dead anymore.

His heart beat.

And he  _bled,_ blood surfacing to dying flesh and skin, exiting all shredded skin and every hole the crystals didn't fill.

 

His mind pulsated with emotion, feeling. Knowing. It washed over him, dark waves of knowledge and blood-stained remorse, sorrow.. helplessness and despair. Desolation had scorched him.

 

And his lips were cracked and dry, like most of his skin, but they carried some resemblance of colour then, in her presence.

His ears could hear, his eyes see. See _her_. See his reality.

He could taste. And it was death that wrought upon his tongue.

 

And as she laid a hand onto the nape of his neck, letting herself fall to his side, arms rushing around him, around his chest and arms, he was drowned in the torment that living brought with it. He shook again, but now in grief. Tears roiled with caked dirt and grime.

She concerned herself with little, letting herself sink into him. She knew it wouldn't last. This. The crystals.  
He had lived before. He had bled and tasted it. He knew it as well, but she couldn't let him go anymore. She trusted his will for now. He was home with her.

Connected through life. Separated by red death spreading inside of him.

She would save him.

 

_She had to save him._


	2. Caught in the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn finds her mind straying to the dark hours just before she broke through his shell.
> 
> As they sit in silence, letting their tired bodies rest, she relives the horrendous day again..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, just hours later!  
> My inspiration is flowing.
> 
> Warning again; hurty/feely chapter, backstory to the first chapters shocking beginning!
> 
>  
> 
> Allow me to recommend that you listen to some dark, haunting or sad music. Get in the ghosty groove.
> 
> Let the chapter begin!

The blizzard had been too violent to enter again. 

They sat still, Cullen still resting over himself, now quiet and waiting. He was vulnerable and tired.  
He had stopped bleeding at least, and was trying to restrain his trembling. 

She sat on her knees next to him, one hand smoothing over his neck and the back of his head. She couldn't afford to question anything just yet, and she let her own stress dissipate with each stroke to his much more alive skin. 

But as she sat there, listening to the wind howl into all nooks and crannies of the castle, she couldn't help but think of the horrible hours she suffered getting here. Getting him.

She shifted on her legs, trying to see his eyes as he still rested his forehead to the floor. She wanted to see them as golden as his hair again. Cullen.

 

…

 

After their initial battle had led them into the ruins of an ancient castle, the weather had worsened significantly and they were trapped... Or rather she was trapped in there, with him, whatever was left of him.

He had broken her, physically and mentally as she was battered through each chamber, forced back, against walls and into debree. She had pleaded to him, tried to reason with him, sobbing pathetic prayers to the Maker whenever she had escaped him long enough. Either by running or hiding from his gaze behind walls. 

In the midst of what little battle she managed, with or without spells against his sword, she'd tried it all. Her strength failed her in face of his strikes. She could barely block his swats with her metal encased staff. She rattled in his force, scrambling on the ground to avoid his death strikes. But she felt fooled, like he was doing more than trying to kill her. Like it was revenge. Trying to break her into a cask of her former self. 

She couldn't cast spells, his inhumane templar aura had nullified her powers, and it had become a chase rather than battle. He had set off a deep panic within her, as she desperately ran from hall to hall, room to room, upstairs and over balconies. Her enchanter's robes ripped and tore with her frantic and uncalculated escape, as she ran into the remains of what might had seemed like a once impressive castle, and its interior design. She tripped over strewn about chairs, her pant legs catching on edges. She bumped into door handles and knobs, wearing at her leather harness and metal clasps. She stumbled onto the floor, dragging her cloth into tapered and torn rags.  
She couldn't focus on anything in the darkness, but she knew she needed it to have any chance.

He was like a.. a machine, stalking her relentlessly, finding her tracks at each turn and foul she made. Her tormented mind hadn't even noticed she was leaving pieces of herself everywhere in the sheer panic of the maze that was the castle ruins. Drops of blood there, a disturbance of dust here, a piece of her armour on the floor. 

Eventually he had her trapped, clawing like a cornered animal at the immovable and enclosing walls. She couldn't breath as the silence suffocated her, made her listen to his footsteps as he closed in on her, a faint humming resonating from the crystals across his body, and from his core. It had made her hairs stand on end, her skin crawl in horror, her blood rushing out into her ears, deafening herself with the doubling and doubling heartbeat. 

He was like a shade, a force of unnatural power that trekked after her. It instilled terror in her, each time she had had to stop and find a stressed rest, just because she couldn't run further without her knees failing her. And as she sat in the unfurnished room, that distress had crept at her. She would have screamed if she could, but his monstrous presence silenced her. 

As he had entered the room, her heart stilled for but a moment, her breath fluttering in deep need for air, the one she breathed too thick and poisonous with the thrum of red lyrium.

His blood red eyes had been more orange then, more Cullen, but yet they ate through her, and she felt like he would've devoured her right then if he had had her in his grasp. 

His former ferocity was replaced by... something. Something so terrifying it had made tears trickle down her cheeks, but yet stopping the sobs that welled up into a painful pit in her throat. His slow, calculating and unyielding movements were rigid with the strength that pulsated through him. 

He had closed the door, closed the way out, and approached her. Each step being an eternity to be born and die in. She would die here, die at his wicked claws blade. The agony would ripple through her, as his blunt blade tore flesh rather than cut it, she had figured as much when they fought. 

As the fear shook her entire core, she had desperately pushed and clawed at the wall that kept her in that room with the creature, once her trusted adviser. She would've gnawed off a leg to escape then.

But she couldn't. And he had grappled her shoulder, thrown her onto the floor, making her slide helplessly against the opposite wall. She shouted in agony, his gauntlet ripping at her skin, piercing it. She cried out his name, begged him to stop.

”Cullen! Cullen, please... Please.. It's me Cullen, it's Evelyn. Remember me...” Each word stole her voice away, and it was but an anguished plea in the end, and she crawled back into a corner as he enclosed on her again. He pound her jaw with the back of his gauntlet, and she fell onto her side, hands twisting underneath her body as she tried to regain some sense. She was dizzy from the hit, but the horror that held her heart in a tight grasp made her crawl away from him, frantically working to get up on a knee and into sprinting, an opportunity to hurl herself at the door.

But it was for naught. His cold metal palms wrapped around her ankles just as she'd gotten up onto a foot and he dragged her back, her knees and ribs bruising with the harshness of the cobbled floor. He spun her into the middle of the room, a deep frown still present on his strangely young face. His nose wrinkled seemingly in disgust. 

She laid splayed on the floor for a second, before meekly trying to reach the wounds that bled on her feet and legs. It stung, seethed with pain. The dust and dirt caked her sores and bruises, and she convulsed on her shuttering breaths, clinging onto whatever warmth she found in herself. It was slowly draining along with her life essence. 

”C-Cullen.. Please.. Maker, bring Cullen back.. Save his soul from the lyrium.. bring him back to me.. please” she continued to cry, tears still finding their way down her cheeks.

Utter helplessness and despair had taken her, and her hope sunk into the void that was his corrupted eyes. He stared at her, circling her feeble form. 

She had tilted her face to see him, eyes trying to find something inside of his, some resemblance of humanity, trying to cling to the chaos that was him. Cullen.. 

”Come back to me, Cullen..” 

Something snapped in his haunted features, and he gripped her throat, forcibly pulling her up, her legs kicking in shock as he pushed her against the cold wall. His teeth grit in fury, wrinkles over his nose and between his furrowed brows that gave him the look of a snarling lion. 

”Cullen is dead. Don't you see that, you fool?” his voice was dark, tainted with whispers from the crystals, and it rung in her ears. She fingered at his strangling grip, her face twisted in morose fear and panic still. Little of her Cullen remained in the sound of his voice, none of his emotion and empathy. None of his humour or seriousness. It was a raw emotion that Cullen had expressed little of before, and as it mixed with the grim whispers of other lost souls, it was unreal.

”He has been dead since the day you sent him off, Inquisitor.” he growled at her, letting go of her throat, sending her to her knees as she coughed and gasped for a gulp of air. Her eyes were wide in shock and realization at his voice. Truly, it was not Cullen. Not her Cullen. He was... corrupted, killed in the making of this.. creature.  
She trembled under his gaze as the lamentable memories washed over her, drowning her. She had sent him off. In fits of rage and inexplicable want to hurt, she'd told him to leave, find peace if he's ever to return and serve under her, perform his position as commander responsibly. She had convinced herself that he had forced her hand once he had started looking into her past, sending off forces in belief that she was uncertain and unfit to be inquisitor in her darker moments. He had ignored her, feigning unknowledge of her anger and attempts at discussion. He had placed his 'righteous' decisions above hers as he had found her secrets. Dark, stuffed down deep into her blackest corners, locked behind walls of magic and unstable torrents that coursed from her whenever she lost temper. 

Perhaps it had made him snap then. Perhaps she'd awakened a deep fear in him that made him change, clawing at his mind and heart. It must've been tearing him apart, as the lyrium addiction rippled through his bones and made him ache every moment of the day. 

They could've loved each other, but his blatant tries at control over her situation had driven her over the edge, and they'd argue endlessly in each others presence. She found herself dreading his annoyed aura and sour response as soon as she'd think his name. She'd spit and growl, and hate his guts. He had been everything she'd hated about templars then, the control, the insurmountable righteousness that they deemed more impressive and commandeering than life, the disrespect of magic and the fear that flashed in his eyes when her powers smite her enemies, blood staining her hands and face. The fire raking over their skin, the odour of burning flesh ingraining itself in her armour. 

She was no less a monster than what he'd transformed into in front of her then. She was so furious, rage shredding inside her that the fire blinded her. She didn't only hurt Cullen then, she drove many eyes away from her, and she'd sit alone in her chambers, crying profusely, refusing meals and company until she was so exhausted her companions would enter anyway, forcing their aid and guidance on her. She only appreciated it after.

Fool. She thought. Failure, miserable excuse of a person. How could she ever be forgiven..

She was the reason Cullen was dead, and walking before her still.

She sobbed then at the floor, her forehead pressed dearly against the cold embrace.

The sickening cries filled his ears and he unsheathed his sword in a split second, shaving it against her jaw, making her sit up in defeat, the paint that twinged in her heart still conforming her features into a wet, desperate and pathetic visage.

”I feel his exasperation still. His hurt and agony from being exiled from the salvation the inquisition had provided him. Being rejected of his hearts content as he tried pleading his case to you.” He snarled, spitting forcefully as he articulated the words in fury. His eyes bored into her, and her heart pound.

”He was a fascinating host to begin with, but his remorse and despair turned into my own, and I found myself spending disgusting amounts of time charting through chantries and camps to enter your world again. Let this husk of a man have his lust for revenge sated.” the demonic presence in Cullen writhed, drawing blood at the edge of his blade slowly, a wound carving into her jaw. She winced, but couldn't move away. 

She should not have believed his.. his lies. It seeped with dishonesty and a bloodlust Cullen just couldn't bare in himself, even as he must've broken under his exile. 

But she did.

She did believe him, it soaked into her ears, dread shivering over her. She felt lesser than the dirt that floated around her in a flurry.

Cullen didn't want revenge, it was the demon that claimed his heart that did, manifesting it through Cullen's fears and ire. But she was too deep in her pit of self-loathing that she was slowly unfurling under his scrutiny.

”He wants you dead, Inquisitor. Undone, pooled in your own blood. He knows you'd fear the aura he'd exhume as a red templar. It would be a thousandfold stronger than any other aura he could've practiced over you.” It started, a wicked grin distorting Cullen's scarred lips. She just couldn't look at him any longer, and she closed her eyes. 

It growled at her reaction, and slid its sword away from under her jaw, sheathing it by his waist again. She was beginning to give up then, as his dark words licked against her frail self-confidence. 

”You know that's why he came to Samson. He wanted power he didn't have against you. A power to bring you to knees like now, and break that shriveled heart of yours.” It laughed, rumbling the armour in the motion. He paced around in front of her.

He reveled in her sinking form, her relinquished spirit shown in her hands splayed across her lap. They were dark, skin damaged by her futile attempts at setting things alight. The fire would've pooled in her palms, rather burning herself than being able to send it in any direction. He smirked deviously, thinking he'd besieged her then, broken her fortress and laid claim on her soul.

But as her last sliver of hope and distrust in his words was slipping, she looked up at him, tired eyes meeting his sadistic gaze. It made him drop the smile, stopping him in his step to understand what she was doing.

”I loved you, Cullen. You brought me peace when I had none. I am sorry for letting that trust be misguided into fear. I am so sorry I..” she never left his gaze, her words stronger than they'd been since she had been chased, but they still ended in little but a meek whisper. 

He flared his nostrils in restrain, dark red eyes penetrating her again. His golden locks were unmade, a tangled mess of hair. His cheekbones were still tall and proud, even more pronounced in his youthful state. His bold nose sat perfectly in his features, and as her gaze drifted in his face, she realized how still he was. Was he contemplating her words? Trying to scare her? She couldn't tell, little emotion filling her now.

He stood as a statue would. Cold thoughts seemingly striking him quiet, unhappy to say the least. 

Something stirred in him, even if Evelyn didn't notice it in her distracted state. He was breathing short, stressed puffs, lips pressed tightly, seemingly taking a moment as to compose himself. 

She was moving something inside of him. Coaxing something to make the demon freeze in its tracks. She should've known then. She should have seen it, but her eyes wandered restlessly across his stricken features. Trying to find something that reminded her of the true Cullen, the older man with years of experience and of putting it to use. 

She stuttered back, letting her head drop in abject surrender. She saw that it was Cullen, but his young appearance made him look like a completely new man. A new life she would have had to spent time with, made memories and thoughts of. It wasn't her commander.

 

The blood that drained her was making her unsteady, sight blurring in the paling state of her body. The cold slipped over her skin slowly, and she stiffened, her muscles caving under the drop of temperature. 

The world seemed faded then, and she started to let go somehow.. she couldn't feel her magic anymore. She felt numb, repressed deep into a shell. Perhaps death would release her.

Perhaps.. She was..

So.. weak.


	3. Speaking Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn and Cullen take a respite in each other's presence before facing the daunting idea of travelling to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow build of backstory and progression of story!
> 
>  
> 
> Slooooowly. 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

She caressed him unhurriedly, feeling the beat in his throat calm down into a more normal rhythm.

He stirred under her touch then, breathing deeply, trying to find some repose from the violent physical strain he'd to perform to regain control of himself. His mouth hung ajar as his nose was clogged by dried blood and a stuffy cold. Sweat glistened on his still slightly sickly skin. A furrow settled between her brows then, and she wrapped her palm in a rag from her cloth pieces of her armour.

Slowly she dabbed at his neck and jaw, over his cheekbones and up his temple, where stray hairs clung against the wet skin. He sighed into her touch, seemingly tensing a bit, like he was bracing it. Perhaps he felt so tired just then that he might fall over to his side if he didn't stay still. She kept her touches feathery as the thought floated to her.

He was so, very tired. And she understood, of course. Whatever he had done, whatever had given him the strength and resolve to shatter the bonds of red lyrium.. it was nothing short of a miracle in her mind. She would've been hunched over him, crying her prayers if she wasn't so exhausted herself. Despite her own fragile state, she felt the need to be there for him, more so than tending to any of her sores and wounds. He clung very desperately to her presence, even if she didn't notice it in his person. He grasped for her in his mind, held her close, avoiding for her to touch any of the crystals that jut out of him. He felt her hair, her lithe frame in his arms, and he would feel safe in that moment.

Alas, he was but too weak then, and he remained resting over himself, still holding his broken wrist. He ached and pulsated with pain, from everywhere in his body. A deeply needed sleep traveled up his spine and he would've blacked out then if it wasn't for her proximity. Her magic aura intertwining with his twisted and evil red soul. He knew what he was doing to her, just by being so close. He knew because he couldn't diminish the magic-dampening area of effects that exhumed from him. Usually, he would've been able to weaken it; controlled it so much so that she'd be able to feel her magic flow again. But now it was ravaging, and he couldn't even muster enough willpower to touch it, let alone have her able to cast spells. 

 

She smoothed his hair down, trying to reform it into his hair. The wild fury of hair that sat on his head just wasn't him. It was the lyrium, making him rake his gauntlets furiously through it and tangling it the process. 

The lyrium drove him mad.

It filled his ears with whispers of others trapped inside of themselves, strangled his breath and rocked his body as crystals pushed through him, pierced his skin and solidified his muscle. 

It had started at his heart, growing out into his chest and shoulders. Surprisingly it hadn't restricted his movement much, but it made him stiff. He had to force movement onto himself if he wanted to get anywhere. Otherwise he would root into the ground, become a living red lyrium deposit. He had to keep moving.

Sitting imprisoned and chained to the wall, while your friends and supposed brothers feed you red lyrium, forcing you to swallow or them breaking your jaw and ribs in the process. 

He had hoped he could stay himself long enough to be set free, and been able to find Evelyn and the Inquisition again. He had fought the whispers and the feeling of helplessness for so long, it wore his mind, and the world started to pale in comparison to what the fade demons promised him if he let them help him. He was broken then, forced to accept their wicked deals and letting them enter his body, fill it with power again. 

It had set him free, but only because it was what Samson and Corypheus wanted with their red templars. To break their will and have them be hosts to the very demons they vowed to protect the world from. 

He was still trapped with it inside of him, even as he lay nest to her, clutching at the reality, trying to keep himself steadied in it. The demon charged at his psyche from the fade. It was like a terrible migraine, thrumming with each attempt the demon made to corrupt him again. If he lost control, he knew he'd slip into darkness. It would be like falling asleep, but in reality he would be awake, doing the demon's bidding. As such, he felt like he hadn't slept for days, which wasn't untrue. 

Evelyn's cold fingers, combined with the cobble cooling his forehead, he was kept awake by the pain and sensation of.. waking up. Of his heart beating. He had to stay alive. Awake.

 

His stiffly gripping hand relaxed against the gruely wrist, and he let himself curl slightly, arching his back so he could gain some lift, to see her face. 

She didn't look at him then, only staring at the door leading out of the room. He watched her in his upside down view. Her face looked gaunt, bony jaw hanging loose even if her lips sat sealed. She looked incredibly tired, no doubt wanting to rest right then on the floor, but she sat straight. He could tell she was fighting it. 

Her bright blue and yellow eyes were glazed, in dwelling. Perhaps how they'd get out of.. wherever they were. Her light brown hair was tangled, slicked against her sweat forehead and cheeks, the rest of it tussled with dust and the nature from outside. Despite her pale looks, he found sweet respite in seeing her again. 

She looked down at him, finding his eyes. She blinked several times, her gaze suddenly focusing intently on him, like she was trying to pry his mind open before her, get him to spill his mind to her. He would have, if his cracked lips didn't sit so stuck together, and if his throat hadn't been so soar and hoarse from.. shouting? Growling? He remember a rumbling feeling in his chest as his mouth moved, like he was in a dream. But he knew whatever ”dreams” he had were glimpse of what he'd done.

But her intense glance at him made him want to say something. Anything, so she'd let her soft voice be heard again in reply. 

He murmured into the floor, his lungs achingly trying to serve his will and exhale enough air for speech. She craned her neck then, coming closer to his face, trying to listen to his illegible rambling. 

”E... Eve...” he cursed his feeble soul and groaned as he lift himself farther up. She immediately caught him around his chest, steadying him slowly as he sat up. His face distorted into a wince, as he tried to fight against the strain in his inelastic back. He tilted his head up, eyes closed tightly, brows furrowed deeply between them. She watched him carefully, still letting her hands hover over his back and chest, in case he'd buckle under the weight of himself. 

He relaxed then, as the pain dissipated. His head came down gradually as his features softened into an exhausted man's hooded eyes and slightly ajar mouth, trying to keep his breathing stable. His red eyes fell onto her, and he was almost shocked by how seemingly illuminated her own orbs appeared. Something was sparkling in them, something miraculous and rare. Faith was returning to her then, as he moved, confirming his alive state, and will to stay awake. 

His hands laid lax in his lap, and his chest heaved. The silence in the room palpable; she awaiting his voice to be heard. He wanted to smile.

He wanted to let himself rest into her, find solace in her warmth and salvation, but he could tell she was still worried and stressed, and he could only ever blame himself.

She wasn't just here for him, or for herself, she was here for the inquisition and for the cause. She elevated his redemption into a way to bring faith to her followers. She was... in every way the Herald of Andraste then, as he stared into her eyes. She was thinking of them, of the cause, of every life and heart that ached when the inquisition couldn't aid their calls, their pleas for help. 

He wanted to tug her into the croon of his neck, where his shoulder and throat met, and rest with her. But just then she wasn't his, and she had never been, even if it once struck his thoughts as they met on the battlements, in the courtyard and in the gardens. Perhaps.. if he'd been less of a void-struck fool he could have...

She tilted her head at him, face stretched in anticipation. He tried pursing his lips into words.

”Evelyn..” He croaked, voice rasping like a rusted sword in his throat. He coughed.

Her brows rose, and she was there with him again, just him. 

”Evelyn, you.. brought me back.” He tried again, able to find his tone.

She slowly closed her eyes, her corners tugging into a pained smile, nose wrinkling as her lips quivered in... relief. Her head dropped forward, and her hands found his good one. She cupped his metal hand in her naked palms. It must've stung with how cold they were, but she wanted nothing more than to hold onto him. Despite his reservations, believing she was above mortal in that moment, he let his fingers wiggle out of her hands, and he grasped her in return, and she tightened her grip then.

Her forehead slumped into his dented pauldron, her brown hair spilling over her shoulders and draping her face. She shook slightly, her shoulders heaving with quiet tears spilling out from her at his voice. His voice. It was Cullen again, and only him speaking. She had waited for so long... to hear him speak again. Months. Enough time for her to forget how he sounded like. How dark and reassuring he could sound. How assertive and bold, despite how puny his voice was in the moment.

She didn't want to cry any more. She didn't think she had any left to shed, but it proved to remain as the consolation heaved through her. She was afraid to believe, so vulnerable she could fade at any moment, but she had to. She needed to believe it was Cullen, and that he would stay until they cured him. Because there had to be one. 

His fingers stroked against the back of her hand, and he watched her move with her cries. He wanted to soothe her but he couldn't stop the emotions that spilled out of her. So he let her.

They sat still for a few minutes, and gradually she regained her composure, but she remain leaned into his shoulder, like she'd have to run again if she let go of him. But his unmoving hand caught her eye.

She left his hand still, and rose slightly from him to look down into his lap, and at the broken wrist that sat dreadfully still. He didn't want to move it, of course, but for her he let it slip down to his knee, and she hovered over it, gentle fingers tugging the leather straps of his gauntlet. He let the pain remind him what she'd done for him, and sat remarkably inanimate. 

The gauntlet came undone and she wisped it off of his hand, setting it aside his knees. She inspected it meticulously, feathery fingertips pushing at the bleak skin of his wrist. It was swollen but sat in place, thankfully. She slid one hand underneath and laid the other on top, pressing them together lightly. He didn't hurt as much with her warmer palms holding him. 

They'd have to be on the move as soon as possible. They needed to tend to their wounds, especially his that were old and decrepit, soiled with the uncaring of the demon that sat in him. The graying tissue that surrounded bruises on his underarm told of his undead state. It haunted her, but with the saving grace of an angel, she ran her palm over it, covering the sight of it. She sat for herself again, and watched his face then. He was still following her movements over his arm, but he felt her gaze.

She observed the scar of his lips, the missing wrinkles around his eyes, the straight arch of his proud nose, that would otherwise be slightly bulged with old fractures from combat. It would need... getting used to, if they couldn't fully reverse his state. He looked an adult, perhaps thirty years of age, but not as battle-scarred as she was used to. Perhaps he would've looked like this if he had lived a sheltered noble's life.

Her hands let his wrist rest against his knee again, and he followed them up to her face. Her fingers smoothing over his chin, his cheek. He would have welcomed her touch any day, but her troubled expression told him of how different he was. Something was changed about his appearance. 

He hadn't seen himself since the day he'd been in captivity, he didn't know what she'd see where he couldn't look himself. 

”Am I..” He started, trying to decipher her thoughts as she felt his skin.

”It's... going to take some time to get used to.” She replied, her hands slipping from his face. It was sweet to hear her voice again, despite the sorrow it expressed. 

He nodded, mouth closing as he could breath through his nose again. He looked to the door, feeling determined. He wanted out, home to Skyhold, get back to what was once, and will be again, his life. 

She shifted next to him, and stood. She was strong, willing herself to see past anything that twinged.  
He looked to her, sluggishly dragging one foot ahead, to brace himself against his knee, and pushing off. Her hands found him, and she steadied his hunched form, as he stood unstable on his heels. Once he nodded in gratitude for her adept watch on him, she started. 

She seemed unhindered as she moved ahead, step by step getting to the door, unfazed by the wounds that stained her armour. He cursed himself for thinking anything less of her than her sheer strength to endure. He followed her in rigid steps, leaning a hand to the wall as he exited the room. She realized he wouldn't get far in this maze of a castle just striding on his own power, so she draped a heavy arm over her. He hesitated for a moment, but agreed to the thought. He wouldn't make down any stairs on his own.

The blunt crystals that sat under his breastplate ground into his side as they walked, but he could only care for her not having to touch anything of the noxious vermilion crystal. He would have no more of her pain on his account. 

___

The castle was grand, and Evelyn found herself wondering how she hadn't heard of any great ruin in the north of Orlais. The mountains that surrounded it were identical to the Frostbacks, where Skyhold sat secure, but they were much further north, where the Inquisition didn't find themselves very often, as little people established life in the haggard environment. She thought of their cause as she and Cullen made their way out.

She remembered the way, even as she'd made a flurry of it on the way in. Her escape. 

They turned corners, descended stairs carefully, avoided the rooms where they'd clashed momentarily before she'd start off further into the castle in her panic. She didn't want to be distracted as she tried to bare both herself and some of his weight. 

She was strong physically, even as she'd lived a secluded and sheltered life as a mage ward-ling. The countless treks and battles since the even of the Breach had enforced her core, and she held her ground well.

The silence hung softly between them, as neither had any breath to spare whilst handling wounds and each other to the vestibule of the castle. 

A last stair, clad in a wide frayed canvas, led into the vestibule of the castle. The gates had been opened in their combat surging inside, and the snow had covered the marbled floor at the bottom. The blizzard had graciously dissipated in their wait, as if it trapped them inside on purpose. 

Cullen leaned onto the railing of the stair, and stared out into the white, wintery landscape. It reminded him of Skyhold, and a sorrow settled over his person. Shoulder slumped in defeat, and he realized what would have to be done once they reached the fortress... what would need doing as they traveled there. He trusted her to be able to handle their return, she always seemed prepared in the old days anyway. 

She walked next to him, only a few steps ahead, as to reach the exit faster, and spy out for prying eyes, or his red templar troops scattered in search. He had not been alone when they met, but their fighting had led them away fast, as it had been on horseback originally.

The outside seemed calm, and a bit too bright to gaze fully. She squinted as her eyes stung, but welcomed the brisk wind that flowed through her rugged clothes. It was early morning, and the sun rose over the horizon behind them. The castle cast a long shadow ahead, but the reflection in the snow shone straight into her gaze. 

The sky was speckled with wispy clouds, as itself was faded orange and blue. Serenity hung in the naked branches of the trees that overgrew the courtyard of the castle. No birds sang, as if scared by what had haunted the usually unspeaking ruins. 

She hoped her steed had been able to seek shelter somewhere. Her horse was clad warm, and she convinced herself he'd be clever enough to survive a blizzard.

Suddenly, a heavy cape draped over her shoulders, and she twisted to see Cullen meekly hanging it over her.

It was tattered, worn, but more whole than most of what she wore. His thick, stuffed armour resounded as he clung his good hand over his shoulder. It pained him, the dent that had crushed into him from one of her few hits. She looked at him unfocused, but smiled in reply, burrowing herself into the thick mane that was sewn onto the heavy cloth. It wasn't the one he usually wore, this one being black and brown stained in colour, but it... reminded her at least. 

He nodded in her direction, and straightened for a moment to look over her shoulder at the quiet outside. He didn't want to enter the light and have it reflect the cardinal colour of his corruption, but he'd follow her anywhere now, and he braced himself in the shade. He felt sick as he thought about preferring the darkness; a vile creature of the night.

No, he had to walk in the light with the Herald of Andraste.

With Evelyn.

He went past her, the first to step into the deeper snow outside.

The courtyard was covered in the powder light falling of the night, but the grace that the angelic statues and waterless fountain was no less present. He hadn't noticed it in his.. ”dreams”, but the expanse that was the ancient stone formations of pillars and broken pathways out of the castle ground were magnificent. He took it in, and strode onward; Evelyn reaching his side.

They made their way out onto a pathway that ended just outside of the castles shadow, and the sun glared against their cold bodies. 

They were exhausted, light-headed in strain and stress, but both of their souls reveled in the warmth that the orange orb gave them. Evelyn turned her full attention to it, stopping a moment.

She garnered the feeling it gave her. She was alive. He was alive.

He stepped up just behind her shoulder, his good hand hesitating at first to touch her, but then resting against her back. Innocently in her mind.

”Andraste must be smiling at her Herald.” He said; a husky tone. His carmine eyes regarded the mountains in the distance, as the sun rose just over their summits. 

She wanted to scoff at his remark, but she'd never felt more blessed. She leaned back into his soft touch.

”She smiles at you, Commander. You're performing miracles by the minute.” Evelyn jested, a relieved and sweet smile staining her otherwise pastel face.

He stared down at her. Was she.. joking? 

She moved past him before he could think of it any longer. 

He shrugged the thought out of his mind, and willed to move after her even as his body still ached. He must be in shock still, he shouldn't have been able to move in such a grim condition. 

It seemed daunting to be travelling any amount of ground when he thought of it, but her resolute stride convinced him.

She would succeed.

If anyone could, it would be Evelyn Trevelyan.


End file.
